


Locked Away in Permanent Slumber

by Shesfearless



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, But only a little fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, sometime after 3x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shesfearless/pseuds/Shesfearless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's dead to his sister, he's responsible for hundreds of deaths, and he'll never see Clarke again. At least, not Real Clarke.<br/>Hell of a lot of angst if you couldn't tell<br/>Title from This Is Gospel by Panic! At The Disco</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked Away in Permanent Slumber

I don’t know what to do anymore. After Octavia, well, beat the shit out of me, I mostly just sit in my cabin. I haven’t gone to see Pike, I don’t even know what he does anymore. He came to see me once, asking me where the hell I’ve been. I silently gave him back the guard jacket. I know it wasn’t the guard jacket, it was what I had done in it, but it just reminded me of the monster I am, the monster Octavia knows I am, the monster she hates.

I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. Probably a long time. But I don’t feel any more pain than I already have. I don’t think Jaha’s drugs could fix this pain. If it can’t fix my relationship with my sister, it can’t fix my pain. So I won’t take the damn drugs. I deserve this pain.

I also don’t take the damn drugs because of the damn side effects. I don't want to forget.

I’ll always remember the words. “You’re dead to me,” echoing in my mind, constant. Somewhere in there, there’s another voice, another echo. “I know we can fix this,” and my thoughts are on Clarke now.  
She has been my hope. The hope that we could have peace. The hope that we could survive. The hope that we could fix this.  
Then hope turned around and left.

I remember when she was in charge. It was only two weeks with only her in charge. “People die when you’re in charge.” I was wrong. When we were in charge together, over 50 of the 100 died, plus the 300 grounders at the dropship. When she was in charge alone, five of the 44 died, and the 300 Mount Weather residents. With Pike, another 300 had died, at least. Including Monroe.

Monroe had been loyal to me, to the end. She was with me at the dropship, one of 20 gunners. She continued on with me to find Octavia, risking her life to find her. She had been with me fighting against Tristan. She hadn’t done particularly well in that fight, but I understood. She was afraid. They all were. When I was going to the army outside Arkadia’s walls, she listened to me. When I went to the grounder village, she was with me. And she died because of me.  
So I started writing the names. All along my wall, I wrote the names of those lost, those gone. I started with her. Monroe. Trina. Roma. Wells. Tim. Finn. Connor. Jessica. He whispered their names as he wrote them. With each name, my eyes watered up. By the time I get to 18, I am crying. With each name, a tear falls down my cheek. Charlotte. Jones. Del. Atom. Diggs. Myles. Mbege. Sterling.  
I reach 54. And I write one more. One more I have lost.

“Clarke,” he whispers. And I cry. I cry and all the words she ever said to me scream in my mind.  
“Stop! The air could be toxic!” Her first words to me.  
“Follow me,”  
“Bellamy, gun!”  
“For now, we make the rules,”  
“I need you. We all need you,”  
“I am become death, destroyer of worlds,”  
“I want you to say that you’re with us,”  
“I’m sure that had to be done, too,”  
“I can’t lose you, too, okay?”  
“It’s worth the risk,”  
“You came through. I knew you would,”  
“May we meet again,”  
The words are harsh. To me they’re just a constant reminder of his pain. I said them once, to Octavia, before Lincoln took her to save her life. She was never the same afterwards. I said them once to Clarke. The next time I saw her, she was a broken child, not the Clarke I had known.  
May we meet again was a curse.  
And so I sob, until my door opens, but I barely notice. It won’t be anyone who cares. No one really cares anymore.

“Clarke?”

Clarke. The voice is Clarke’s.  
But she is gone. Everyone on the wall is gone.  
“Come on. I brought food.” It sounds like something normal. We are not normal. We are hardened, cold, yet broken and crying alone.  
“I must be hungrier than I thought,” I whisper. Ghost Clarke sighs.  
“Bellamy, you can’t starve yourself. I still need you. Believe it or not, Octavia still needs you. She may be angry, really angry, but she still needs her big brother. I still care.” Ghost Clarke is starting to sound more like Real Clarke.

“Real Clarke might, might, care if I live or die. Not if I eat dinner or not.” I’m still staring up at the ceiling. I know if I look at the ghost I will only get pain. “I want Real Clarke,” I whimper a little. “I miss her. I miss her a lot. But nope. I get Ghost Clarke, because I decided to fuck with Real Clarke. I decided to pretend like maybe I didn’t love her. I decided to handcuff her and turn her in when she did NOTHING! WRONG!” My voice starts soft and trembling and evolves into a dangerous, angry creature. My voice reminds me of me. Once I was soft. Now I’ve become a monster, a furious, hot-tempered man.

“Bellamy,” Ghost Clarke says, “I’m real. Please, please look at me. Please eat. Real Clarke is here, and she cares.” Ghost Clarke touches my cheek. Ghost Clarke feels a hell of a lot like Real Clarke. “Please look at me,”

I turn my head and she’s there. It hurts to look at her, just like I knew it would. It hurts to see her sad smile, her eyes filled with tears. It reminds me too much of the Clarke I handcuffed to a table. It reminds me too much of the Clarke I betrayed.  
I don’t know if this is Real Clarke, but I want it to be. I want it to be me and Clarke again. I want her hair to be half-up, I want her face to be innocent and mostly clean, I want our hands to be free of the blood. I want her to be wearing that gray shirt that was way too thin for winter. I want her to be laughing with me on Unity Day, I want her to be giving me the “Dammit Bellamy Blake, listen to me or I will kick your ass” look. I want her to be a delinquent again instead of a leader.  
Maybe-Real Maybe-Ghost Clarke hands me an apple.  
“If I eat it will you smile for me?” I ask. It’s what I want more than anything in the world- a smile. A reminder that not everything is broken. I want my hope back.  
“I will smile for eternity,” Maybe Clarke replies.  
“Don’t do that, it’d be weird,” and I bite into the apple. It tastes like the first food I’ve had in weeks, and God, maybe it is.  
Maybe Clarke smiles, and she is no longer Maybe Clarke. She is Real Clarke. She is smiling, for the first time in months, unburdened and free. She smiles and not everything is broken, not her smile. She smiles and I have my hope back.  
I remembered when she smiled like this on Unity Day, months ago. She deserved that smile, she really did. I watched her from far away. I saw her playing drunkball with Sterling and she looked so happy. There was a deep feeling in my gut when I saw her like that. It made me want to smile, like smiling was unavoidable as long as I looked at her.  
My hope was back. My hope was home with me.  
So I smile back. It’s probably my first smile since Gina died. I bite into the apple again, and she smiles even wider.  
“You’re real?”  
“Yeah,” she says. “I’m real.”  
“Why would Clarke come back? I handcuffed her. I betrayed her.” She bites her lips, looks down.  
“Clarke… decided that if she killed hundreds of people because she thought it was right for her people, Bellamy could, too. And if Clarke thought that handcuffing Bellamy would be right for him and her people, she would.” And so I know that she thinks of herself as a monster, too. She looks at herself and sees someone who has killed, murdered, tortured. I know for every decision people make, she asks herself if she would make the same choice. And she hates herself for the choices she would make.

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are me and Monroe the only ones alive on your remembrance wall?” My face contracts with the pain. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know I’, responsible for yet another one of the delinquent’s deaths.

“Just you,” I whisper, and her face falls, too. “Because I thought you were gone, and I’d never see you again. I thought you hated me.”

“Bell,” She says, and the nickname brings memories of happiness back, memories of O. The nickname sounds sweet with her voice. “Everything I said was true. You are forgiven. You are not a monster. I need you. I’m always going to need you.” I understand. She is my hope and I am her support. Without her I will fall apart and without me she will break. “And don’t think this discussion of our emotions is going to stop me from shoving this sandwich down your throat.” She’s giving me the “I will seriously kick your stupid ass if you don’t do what I say” look. I smile at her, I sit up, and I eat the sandwich she gives me. I know better.  
I feel slightly saner after I eat. At least I know that Clarke is real. And the food is real.

“Do you have nightmares, too?” I haven’t asked her a question like this before. I always knew she had been through too much to ask her about what was going on in her mind. Or maybe I was too scared to hear the answer.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. She looks at me right in the eyes, as if she’s not afraid of what’s inside them.   
I missed her eyes. They reminded me of a bead I once found in a storage room. Shiny, clear, a perfect shade of blue. I had traded the bead at the Exchange. Now, after coming down to Earth, they reminded me of a lake. Big, deep, comfortable. I look at her eyes, and I’m not afraid of what’s inside them.

“What happened? Something must have happened. You can’t just walk inside anymore.” She bites her lips. She does that when she reaches a touchy subject.

“I tried… to talk to the grounders. I convinced them not to kill everyone, but, um, they still wanted their revenge. I don’t blame them, the 300 that died, they had families. So instead of full on war… Lexa sent an assassin. Pike’s dead.” I’m proud of her. She avoided as many deaths as possible. When she’s in charge, people live.

“You did good,” I say, but she doesn’t believe me. “Clarke, if he hadn’t died, hundreds more would’ve. You did good.”

“I wish I could believe that,” she says, her eyes looking down. I look at her, and I pull her close to me. She buries her head in my chest and I hold her close to me.

“Was it true?” she asks, muffled.

“If I told you, probably. Was what true?”

“Does Real Bellamy love me?” It’s the real question, one both of us have been asking for months, never daring to speak it out loud. The only question we have asked ourselves more than that is “Will we survive?” but this is more. This is asking what we do now that we’ve survived. There’s a moment of silence as I think, but I think I know the answer, and always have.

“Yes. He loves you a lot.” She nods slightly and stays silent. I’m afraid of what that means.

“Hey Bellamy?” she says, lifting her head up.

“Yeah?”

“Real Clarke loves you, too,” and our lips touch.

For two warriors, two leaders, this kiss is strangely sweet. Her mouth moves against mine. Our lips are chapped and bloody, our time on earth in winter has given us that, but to me, it’s perfect. This is the answer to all the unanswered questions we have ever had. 

Am I forgiven? Always.  
Do you need me? Every day.  
Will you love me?  
Endlessly.

Her left hand is on my cheek, and I take her right hand. Our fingers lace together.  
I lay back down, and she does, too. She lays her head next to mine, and we slowly drift away.

“I hope this is real,”

I wake.

And I see my mother.

**Author's Note:**

> BOOM!  
> I've been possessed by the spirits of TV writers  
> If it wasn't clear, Bellamy's dead. Clarke wasn't there.  
> I'm sorry, really.


End file.
